


Only Ever His

by JudeAraya



Series: Sons and Lovers [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine receives a picture text of Kurt kissing someone else, he thinks the worst has already happened. Little does he know how much more is really going on. **written pre S3, so nothing cannon from s3-5 applies :D **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> moving old fic over from LJ, this is the first story in the Sons & Lovers!verse

When Blaine comes home he’s perplexed; the apartment darkening, no Kurt in sight. When he’d left for class in the morning Kurt had kissed him soundly, effervescent and radiating warmth. Freshly showered, fragrant and compelling, Kurt was so much more tempting than his early morning lab. Blaine had leaned into the kiss, into promise and temptation, but Kurt had just pushed him away, flirty and firm, asking if Blaine would be home in time for dinner because he felt like cooking.

But there’s no indication that Kurt’s been cooking; in fact the only clue to be found in their tiny apartment is a half empty bottle of tequila that’s been haphazardly set down on the edge of the table, dangerously close to the edge.

A search of the apartment turns up no more clues- no note, no signs that Kurt dressed to go out. Blaine doesn’t think he misunderstood Kurt this morning, and he’s reasonably sure they hadn’t planned a date or been invited to a party. There’s nothing on the calendar that he can see, and anyway if Kurt had gone out he’d know; Kurt getting ready is a small hurricane, a flurry of clothes to be optioned and the scent of bath and hair products; the sort of chaos that always leaves a mark.

Blaine checks his phone, confused and maybe a little worried, but there are no missed calls, no voicemails or text messages. Trying to keep some perspective, Blaine tries calling, only to go straight to Kurt’s voicemail. It’s obvious Kurt must have been drinking- the tequila isn’t theirs, and it is definitely not Kurt’s beverage of choice, so someone must have come over. He sends off a quick text, aiming for casual but a little worried because this is pretty strange; Kurt can be impulsive, but he’s never thoughtless. Blaine finds himself rummaging through the kitchen; he’s not a natural cook- focusing on dinner is as good a distraction as he can come up with. Even worried, sitting around staring at his phone and waiting for a text seems pretty pathetic.

By midnight, three hours have passed and he’s still not heard from Kurt; Blaine has worked his way from puzzled, through annoyed, straight through to seriously freaked out. Methodically, he calls and texts all of their friends, but not many are answering their phones- it’s late on a Friday night, three weeks till finals, and he’s reasonably sure that most of their friends are out having fun and letting lose.

It’s a quarter to one when his phone finally vibrates and it's ridiculous how fast he goes from relief to annoyed, because fuck, seriously why is Chase texting him right now anyway? He’s texted every goddamn person who might have the slightest idea where Kurt might be and the only text he gets is from freaking Chase Shaw, whom he didn’t text. Because Chase hates Kurt; he’s never pulled any punches regarding Kurt (the words bitchy, condescending, cold and, hilariously, easy, have been used), nor has he ever disguised how badly he wants Blaine.

At first it was funny, he and Kurt had laughed about it; then it was annoying and with Chase’s continued persistence it became insulting, and now the only reason Blaine still speaks to Chase at all is because they’ve been put into the same study group in their psychology seminar. He’s not in the mood for anything but knowing where Kurt is; Chase won’t have any pertinent information regarding Kurt, and at this moment, it’s really all Blaine cares about.

So he’s not sure why he checks the text anyway, and then he’s sure he wishes he hadn’t. Because it turns out Chase knows where Kurt is. Blaine is suspended; rooted between disbelief and something else, a small cracking and breaking; he’s flushing hot then cold and his face is an absolute study of confusion and shock.

 

Not so perfect is he? Or is fucking other guys something else you excuse?

Blaine can’t even bring himself to react to the downright bitchiness, can’t even start to care that of course Chase would use this opportunity to try, yet again, to get into Blaine’s pants. Right now, it’s all moot, Chase might as well not even exist. The only thing that does exist is this picture on his phone, lost boyfriend finally found. 

His brain seems to be sending out all sorts of harried signals, fingers and toes and skin are buzzing, crawling; he’s shaking and confused and trying so hard to pretend that this isn’t what it is. Little shocks are tracing through his vertebrae, his eyes are dry and some small part of his head feels broken, something important not connecting.

Then half an hour has passed and he’s still standing, electric and edging towards something like frantic and angry and still staring at the picture. At some point he decides that he might want to sit down, that he’d quite like it because he can’t feel his legs or his hands; really, all he can feel is his heart. It’s pounding, just slamming inside his chest. And the voice, a tiny thing; the sound of hurting - oh my god, oh my god what the hell, oh my god what the fuck?

He’s still staring, a look that’s almost quizzical on his face, trying to make sense of the picture, when he hears a fumbling at the door. Kurt is so obviously very drunk when he comes in. So uncharacteristically wasted, all sloppy hair and a misbuttoned shirt- for a moment, Blaine loses the edges of his anger in pure bewilderment. Not for the first time this night he wonders, who is this man?

It’s only a moment, a small break in the onslaught of hurt and fear and, Jesus, mind numbing amounts of anger. Blaine is still clutching his cell phone in hand, all quiet and watchful eyes and barely breathing as Kurt trips out of his boots, all of his grace and economy of movement absolutely abandoned. Kurt hasn’t seen him yet, and it doesn’t matter because he’s so far gone he has no idea.

Kurt’s usually fine tuned and careful ability to read the emotional quality of a room is well and truly lost; all he’s thinking about right now is climbing into bed with his boyfriend and losing himself in Blaine; Blaine’s smell and touch and homeness. Blaine is comfort and so solid and he’s so so good at taking care of Kurt when he needs it, which is almost never because Kurt can take care of himself thank you very much. Except when he can’t, which would be right now; right now he needs Blaine to fuck him senseless, he needs to be touched and hollowed and just slaughtered. 

So it is a surprise, the worst kid of shock, to find himself met with a solid wall of Blaine, so angry and, oh, the barest hints of suppressed violence. But he’s too drunk, too far gone to understand; to defend himself or explain in any kind of manner just what the hell is going on, why it is that Blaine has pictures of him on Jason’s lap, lips and hands and obvious tongues together.

“Blaine,” he’s slurring, and trips trying to get to him, “No, no please, you…you’ve t’let me splain.” Kurt’s ended up on the floor somehow, and the struggle to get to his feet while Blaine stands over him is just pissing him off, making him feel like he’s begging. He’s confused and his head is swimming and he’s trying to figure out how to make the words work and it’s all futile anyway because Blaine isn’t listening or looking. Kurt can’t seem to get his head to switch gears or think, he’s still somewhere in lust and need and Blaine is shouting, snarling accusations faster than Kurt can process. The more Kurt tries to talk, to catch up, the worse it seems to get.

“Just- God Kurt just shut up! I…” Blaine’s hair is a mess from running his fingers through it, and he can’t help but do it again, trying not to cry or throw a punch, desperate to salvage something, even if all he has is this little scrap of dignity. “I can’t even fucking look at you right now.” And he’s gone, the slam of the door a lost little exclamation point on the whole scene. Kurt stares at the door, still stuck on his knees on the floor. Everything is too slow, understanding like molasses, seeping into him, coating him in shame like tar. He touches his cheek; it’s a small noise, this breath, because it is strange, feeling these tears. Unexpected. He is so divorced from his body; this numb thing he cannot seem to control or fathom.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s four in the morning and his phone won’t stop ringing. Blaine has been doing his best to ignore it, face buried in his borrowed pillow. He can’t breathe like this, and Jan’s pillow smells a little, but it’s a nice break; he’s been staring at the ceiling in the dark for over an hour. The constant chiming of his phone is just one more sensation; he has them all catalogued. The pillow's smell. That weird twisting thing his stomach is doing. A few tears, four bruised knuckles from finally giving in and punching a wall, and oh yeah, one broken heart. He’s reached some sort of victory here, although he’s not sure quite what it is. Ignoring the constant ringing feels like accomplishment, like breathing and living and being.

Unfortunately, his phone is loud, Jan’s apartment is quiet, and he’s the only person in it on the verge of a mental breakdown. Fed up, cranky and only slightly sympathetic, Jan stomps out of her room, grabbing it and throwing it at him, vicious aim right on- it cracks against the back of Blaine’s skull, hard.

“Ow, shit! Jan, what the fuck?”

“Look, I’m really sorry about everything, I am. I’m here for you and all that crap. But Blaine, it’s four in the morning and I have to get up for class in three hours. Either turn it off or answer it.”

Jan’s stomping away, still annoyed, and she’s fierce enough even at 5’2 to have Blaine wincing because he’s really not sure that he wants to answer the phone. Turning off his phone and ignoring Kurt seems too final, too close to actually acknowledging what’s happening here. He can picture Kurt too easily, drunk and calling and oh, he’d looked so shocked and broken when Blaine had left. This picture hurts, Blaine has to bear down hard to keep himself together because this is unraveling him. The long standing habit is now longing; Kurt rarely gets drunk, finding the hours after to be embarrassing and completely not worth the effort. If he had been home with Kurt, he’d be tucking him into bed, taking blatant advantage of Kurt’s need and vulnerability and sweetness.

Those fleeting snatches of time between them where Kurt actively needs Blaine, when Blaine gets to take care of him, are so rare. He’s always loved that, Kurt’s strength, his independence. The twilight moments, when Kurt really needs him, trusting Blaine implicitly to take care of him, are so much more tender this way. Blaine has never minded Kurt’s take charge attitude, never been bothered by Kurt’s natural inclination to take the lead, often times showing Blaine what he wanted before Blaine himself even knew. 

In five years of learning to love each other, they’ve reached a sort of agreement; it’s not spoken, and barely acknowledged because really it just is. They’re two men with strong personalities and years of learning independence, self reliance. Growing up, Blaine so often felt the need to have the answers, to be the mentor and the savoir, the pillar of strength; giving that over to Kurt had never been anything but a gesture of love and trust and knowledge that with this boy, he could rest. He could be. Blaine has never felt dominated or subservient, because Kurt’s need to love by caring and doing and acting is a balm, a relief, and most importantly, it works.

Which is why he has always loved the moments when Kurt is ready to be taken care of, when Kurt needs him. With Kurt, Blaine knows he doesn’t have to always be on, always be strong; he’s never felt a need to have things in their place. But Kurt does- Kurt has a place and an idea for everything, and caring for someone else is the only way Kurt knows how to love. It’s always made him feel strong, special, given him a place in a life that has often been too hard. Kurt’s need to take care of Blaine in the everyday spaces of their lives, tiny and important, give him that feeling of place and home and rootedness. Kurt needing him is tender, it’s rare and something they both prize; speaking a language of love that is active and tangible and healing.

But he doesn’t have the words for this, doesn’t have a reference or understanding to fall back on. He feels so bereft, feels Kurt’s actions like leaving, he’s left in the pressing darkness of this strange apartment, turned inside out. Beneath waves of bone deep hurt and betrayal, Blaine is experiencing an onslaught of bafflement. He and Kurt have always been nothing less than honest with each other, trusting their strengths; communication and commitment, to see them through so much. Of all their friends, theirs is the only high school romance to have made it past the first year of college. Insecurities, doubts, passing attractions- they have always made the effort to talk, to trust their friendship to see them through. 

And it isn’t that they’ve needed to talk, as far as he knows. This is lightning, sudden and devastating and so unexpected. Because it is one thing to be cheated on, it is another to entrust your happiness to another’s and not ever see this coming. To have your lover betray you is enough, but to have your best friend turn away from you, for Blaine, feels like far too much to bear, to understand.

He pushes those thoughts away with effort, and thinking of Jan, checks his phone to see how many times Kurt has called. With a frown, he scans the calls- none are from Kurt, but the last five are from Finn. His phone vibrates, and Blaine can see that Finn is, in fact, calling again. Annoyed, he flicks his thumb to answer, and Finn’s voice is filling his ear before he can snap at him,

“Jesus, finally. Why aren’t you guys answering your phones?”

He’s taken aback for a moment, because the panic in Finn’s voice is not at all what he was expecting.

“Us guys?” It’s dumb, but it is all he can manage at the moment. He’d thought Kurt was having Finn call on his behalf, even if that seemed out of character for him. A few hours ago, Kurt had been fucking Jason at a party. Things change.

“Yeah you guys. Kurt said he’d be by the phone, and I can’t get a hold of him, how can he make flight plans if he doesn’t fucking answer? Burt’s not doing well at all, they’ve had to take him into emergency surgery and I’ve been calling you guys for hours.”

“Wait, what?” Blaine interrupts, sensing that Finn is beyond panic and liable to keep rambling without giving out any pertinent information any time soon. “Finn, what’s going on, is Burt ok?” He’s clutching the phone, and his fear, sudden and so alive, thrums through the phone between them.

“Hold on, didn’t Kurt explain this all to you?” Now Finn sounds suspicious, “Where is he? Why isn’t he answering his phone?”

“I don’t know why he isn’t answering… listen it’s a long story but I’m not with Kurt right now. I haven’t spoken to him, and I know that sounds crazy for us, but right now I don’t know what’s going on, and you’re scaring the shit out of me, so please, can you just tell me what’s happened to Burt?” Finn’s sigh is heavy through the phone, and Blaine can hear so much in that one sound- exhaustion and confusion and fear. His fingers hurt from gripping the phone so tight, he has to make an effort to loosen his grip and listen to Finn’s words.

“I guess Burt was having stomach pains, or something, for a few days, and he kept ignoring it, but it just kept getting worse. Finally Mom made him go to the emergency room because he could like, not even walk; it was so bad. They did some sort of scan, like a cat scan or something, and said that maybe some of his intestines got twisted up. Anyway, they said they’d keep him overnight and give him antibiotics and somehow that might fix it, I didn’t really get that part.” There’s a pause as Finn takes another breath, Blaine has been silently dressing and thinking and making plans as he listens, searching Jan’s darkened apartment for his keys and wallet.

“Mom called Kurt when they admitted him to let him know. She told him it wasn’t a huge deal, but that he might have to have surgery in the morning if it didn’t resolve itself or something…I’m kind of confused about this part, but anyway, we were supposed to call in the morning and let you guys know what was going on and if you needed to come home, but then he really wasn’t doing well, Mom said, and they had to take him to surgery like, right away and he’s in there now- they said it would be a few hours but something is going on and I’m freaking out and you guys weren’t answering your phones…” Blaine’s eyes are closed, his hands shaking as he tries to stop his thoughts and heart from skittering all over the place. This might explain a whole lot about what happened with Kurt, but he’s not sure if it changes anything really.

“Finn, he’s going to be ok right?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time, Blaine can really hear it, the shaking in Finn’s voice and the fear and naked vulnerability, “It’s been like three hours since they took him back and the doctor came out of surgery to talk to Mom, she looked really upset but said she didn’t want to talk about it until we were all here and-“

Blaine glosses right over the assumption that he and Kurt will be coming together, because really why wouldn’t he? Kurt’s family is more his that his own family. But he can’t even focus on that because the fact that Carol won’t even tell Finn what is going on until they get there speaks volumes.

“Oh god,” he breathes into the phone, “It’s bad isn’t it?”

“Man I don’t know…I didn’t really understand it all because Mom won’t talk to me, and I don’t know what’s going on over there, but can you just find out when you’re getting here, tell him what is going on right now? I’ll come pick you guys up at the airport or whatever, just…we need you guys here now, ok?”

“Yeah, sure of course.” His voice is faint as he promises to call Finn with their flight information.

Hanging up without saying goodbye, he finds himself completely still, staring into the darkness of Jan’s apartment. Thinking about Burt, then Carol and Finn, about everything that has happened, but mostly wondering, so scared and unsure, if Burt is going to be ok. If Kurt is going to be ok. Kurt, who he’s left alone and, god, if Blaine is this frightened, how must Kurt be feeling, and he just left him there.

But Kurt doesn’t know this, how bad it really is, and that understanding and sympathy can’t compete. Blaine is moving and there’s anger, spiraling and spinning into him, playing through his fingers and making his head buzz, because he knows that Carol’s phone call to Kurt had to have precipitated this whole fucked up mess, but what he can’t see, in the darkness or in his heart or anywhere in the night sky that’s looming over him as he hails a late night taxi, is why Kurt would leave, would leave him instead of calling, choosing the arms of some other man instead, to carry him through. Through one bad moment, not even the worst because now it is clear that there are far worse moments to come, so how had that one phone call been enough for this.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt is flat on his back on the floor of the tiny living room in his apartment, the sound of his phone vibrating the only thing tying him to any sort of consciousness. A moment passes in which he is completely confused; just a moment, before his senses flood, his brain assaulted by so many sensations, nausea and shame and a radiating soreness throughout his limbs. Then he really starts to wake up and with increased awareness, begins to remember. Thoughts begin to register, too rapid fire for him to really process; his father, Blaine, and oh shit, last night, and he can feel the bile rising in his throat.

His hand is over his mouth and he’s already starting to vomit when suddenly a small trashcan appears; he’s throwing up through is fingers, then not, and shaking through the whole thing. There is a moment of terrible gratitude, a wave of fierce love for Blaine, who knows him well enough to know just what he needs, before he’s realizing that Blaine shouldn’t be here. Before he’s remembering last night, and that he’d walked out. And yet, once done heaving, when left slumped, a graceless and weak wreck on the floor, he sees Blaine clearly, a damp towel to clean his hands with and glass of water in hand.

Water that’s set down in silence. They don’t speak as Blaine uses the towel to clean Kurt’s hand. His face is perfect and impassive, Kurt has to close his eyes, washed in it, swamped in memories that are clearer now, shame that is only burning more through the passing seconds. The night before is mostly a blur, an ugly mess of bad decisions, but he remembers enough to know what he’s done. He knows Blaine though, knows the shape and texture of his anger, well enough to know that right now, nothing said will be heard.

They stare at each other, into the heavy silence, for a beat, until it’s broken apart by the sound of Kurt’s phone, alerting him to a voicemail. Or 17. He’s swearing, because there are 17 missed calls, from Finn and Carol, and he’s flabbergasted by his own selfish stupidity, because Carol had clearly told him they’d know if surgery was needed by morning and it’s almost nine now, the time for knowing and deciding on flights has come and gone. Panicked by the sheer number of calls, he’s trying to dial his voicemail with numb fingers, standing and stumbling, tripping over the edge of the rug, through fear and a vicious hangover.

“Here.” Blaine is helping him, avoiding eye contact, retrieving Kurt’s phone, speaking around him in a tone he’s never heard before.

“I talked to Finn a few hours ago.” There’s an accusation in the words, sharp and hidden in the impersonal tone, and Kurt is wincing, because Blaine had to hear what was going on from Finn, and Christ on a crutch what had he been thinking last night? He’s standing now, Kurt can clearly see his suitcase propped by the door. For a second, it’s so wrong, all kinds of wrong, because it’s just the one bag, his bag, alone. But Blaine is talking and it’s too loud and so many words and Kurt has to breathe through his teeth, trying to hear the words and understand what is going on.

“Burt had surgery last night. Something came up, Finn wasn’t very clear, and they had to rush him to emergency surgery. Carol is waiting for you to come home to explain everything, so I don’t have very many answers. Finn is going to meet you at the airport, so you need to go shower. I’ll call you a cab.”

It’s impersonal, they way he’s imparting this information, and although there isn’t a lot of it, it’s given gently. Kurt is trying so hard to process the words, to understand that the things he’d feared the night before were actually happening, had happened, and he’d missed them. But he can’t, he can’t make the words true, because all he can see is the bag. His bag, solitary and damning in the hallway.

Since moving to New York with Blaine, he’s never been home, been anywhere that required a suitcase, without him. And now…now he has to go home to face his family and his father who is apparently so ill and somehow work through this, and Blaine… but of course he isn’t coming. He very obviously can’t even look at Kurt right now, and Kurt has a sudden urge to beg, to kneel down at Blaine’s feet. But the sheer volume of hurt radiating off of Blaine is enough to stop him. It’s enough in this, that Blaine is here, taking care of him, because he knows so well that he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t know how he is going to manage this; this mess with Blaine and going home to a family that is breaking apart without him, but he knows he can’t hurt Blaine any more.

Once Kurt is locked in the bathroom, Blaine is able to stop moving, to stop breathing, and biting down on a single knuckle, hard, stop himself from going to Kurt. He can hear the sound of Kurt’s sobs from the shower. Blind, he turns, holding onto the kitchen counter with all the strength he has, knuckles white and sharp against his olive skin. For every part of him that is wanting to go to his boyfriend, there’s another that understands that nothing is the same. That it can’t be, for him. Cheating is one thing, and Kurt’s done that.

Even if the circumstances, or what he knew of them, were enough of an explanation for Kurt’s behavior, the fact that Kurt had not confided anything to him, had basically cast Blaine away from himself and the rest of his family- Blaine swears, tears beginning to prickle his eyes. Kurt is his family, his real family. Burt, Finn, Carol- to Blaine, they’re his family too. And Kurt knew that. Knows that Blaine loves and looks up to Burt as a father figure, as the man he always wished his father could have been.

He meets Kurt coming out of the bathroom on his way to their bedroom where he’s printed the flight information. For a moment they do a sort of awkward shuffle, trying to avoid contact. Blaine breaks first, looking up and stepping aside; and he must be making some sort of noise, it’s shock and knowing, because Kurt has frozen at the same time.

Slow, so slow he’s hardly moving, his finger is tracing the obvious hickey on Kurt’s neck. A hickey that hadn’t been there, that he’d certainly never put there. Kurt flinches, Blaine is mapping the edges of this mark, as if reading a fingerprint, pressing harder as he looks into Kurt’s eyes. Then there are tears in Blaine’s, and he’s turning, leaving Kurt in a silence so cold and deep, he can’t even breathe to find the words.

Blaine finds him fifteen minutes later, still towel wrapped and damp, staring into their closet. All the beautiful lines of his body, slim and strong and so well known, are slumped. He can read every ounce of defeat and uncertainty in Kurt’s body. He wants so badly to take him, to wrap Kurt in his skin and his love and to just carry him through this, but he can’t. Because it’s all around them, Kurt’s skin imprinted with the memory of another man. It’s only because he loves them all- Kurt and his whole family, that he is able to help at all. With a sigh, he’s pushing Kurt out of the way; he’s terse, emanating cold.

“You have to get dressed, the cab is waiting and you’ll miss your flight.” Deft and practiced, he’s pulling clothes out, something comfortable for the flight but nothing that will offend Kurt’s sensibilities. He can hear Kurt dressing, mechanical and slow, behind him, but he can’t do it, can’t bear to look on any part of the boy that had once been his alone. At a body that, until last night, had only been touched and loved by him.

“I’m dressed.” Kurt sounds empty, his voice a lifeless thing that wrings at Blaine’s insides. For a moment he wonders how he can still feel everything for Kurt, love and pain and fear; and still be so angry and lost at the same time. Even when Kurt is hurting him, Blaine still loves him, and he knows that if he doesn’t get Kurt out of the apartment soon, he’ll break. He’ll break down and smash it all apart, crashing into Kurt and through Kurt and through all of the pain that he’s putting Blaine through. Because somehow, his love for Kurt is so much bigger than his own heartbreak.

Instead, he follows Kurt out of the bedroom, hauling his suitcase without speaking, brushing past Kurt to exit their apartment. It’s an impersonal transaction, he’s depositing the suitcase in the cab and handing Kurt the printed copy of his itinerary and never looking up to see Kurt’s face. For a moment they just stand, so much space in the few inches between them. In a split second, he sees the intention in Kurt’s eyes, before Kurt even realizes; and he’s turning, walking away with his head down, leaving Kurt with his hand out, three words spinning lonely and dazed into the dirty New York air.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt vacillates between tears and anger the whole flight home. He knows it’s a sort of self righteous, self-preservatory anger that he has no right to, but he’s feeling it just the same. It may be a small, selfish thing; but he’s pissed. Because yes, he had kissed Jason, but that was it. And it was a big fucking deal, and he had been so damn drunk and scared and messed up, but it was a kiss. But here he was, fucking alone, on his way to see his father for potentially the last time. Kurt looks down at his lap, where his hands are clenched into fists. Oh, it’s a terrible feeling, knowing that he’s mad at Blaine simply because Blaine isn't here when he should be. He’s a selfish son of a bitch, he knows it, for being angry that Blaine can’t just look past this mistake for a moment, for a day, for a few minutes, even if it was a big fucking mistake, because Kurt needs him, now.

And fuck that, not just Kurt. How could Blaine not even come? Didn’t he care? Hadn’t he always said that Burt was like his father now? Ok, so he’d kissed someone else, and he felt horrible, like the worst sort of lowlife, especially when he’d seen the tears in Blaine’s eyes, but Christ it wasn’t like he’d fucked Jason. Despite the hickey, it hadn’t even gone farther than a kiss. But he’s still hung over, head pounding, and the tiresome circle of his thoughts is only serving to nauseate and infuriate him. He shouldn’t even be focusing on Blaine, when there’s so much else to think about.

Staunchly ignoring the voice in his head snippily informing him that it is his own damn fault that he’s alone, he leans against the window of the plane, sighing. It’s hard to stay mad, knowing that Blaine had come home to book him a flight, get him up and to Ohio, despite his anger. In their closet, when Blaine had refused to turn around, it had been clear, written in the air and the line of his shoulders, that Blaine was confused, torn, but so clearly hurt.

By the time the plane has landed, Kurt is fighting a migraine and the urge to vomit again. Once through baggage claim, he sees Finn easily, standing by his small car on the curb, looking more tired than Kurt ever remembers seeing him. There is a moment, when Finn is loading his suitcase and eyeing his brother carefully, a moment when Kurt can feel his mask slipping, can tell his feelings are naked and cracking through.

“You look like shit dude.”

“Wow, thanks Finn.” More tired than he cares to admit, Kurt can’t muster any of his usual snap or sarcasm.

“Sorry man, I know. Listen, Blaine told me you were way hung over, so I know you want to go home, but his plane comes in like an hour from now, can we just stop somewhere to grab coffee while we wait? Gas is freaking expensive and I don’t want to drive all the way to Lima just to come back. Don’t think I have time anyway.”

“Huh, what?” Lost, Kurt puts his hand to his head, wishing he’d brought sunglasses.

“Blaine,” Finn is speaking with exaggerated patience, “His plane should be coming in, in about an hour. I thought we’d pass some time before he gets here then we can all go to the hospital.”

The air is thick with exhaust from idling cars, and the sun is somehow even brighter in Ohio than it had been in New York, and Kurt can only stare at Finn, wondering what the hell is going on, and how on earth Blaine could be so angry that he’d go out of his way to catch a separate flight. God this was so messed up. He can’t do anything right now but give up, closing his eyes, tipping his head against the back of the seat, shrugging in assent.

“How’s Dad?” He has to ask, even though he is far from sure that he wants to hear the answer. Even though he knows Carole is waiting for him, for both of them, to talk about what is going on.

“He’s the same I guess. They have him really sedated. You guys can see him for a few minutes in the ICU.”

“Ok.” His voice is almost lost in the uncertainty that fills the car, and he can’t muster the energy to pretend to feel stronger, “I want to talk to his doctors too.”

“I know. We told them you’d have questions.” A few minutes pass. “Come on,” the car was stopping, “Let’s get some coffee and something to eat.” Kurt can’t even think about food, can’t fathom leaving the car and venturing into the sunlight and air.

“I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, and I bet once you do you’ll feel better. How much did you drink last night anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll eat something, but please, can we just…not talk for a bit?” He hates to sound so defeated, but he doesn’t have anything in him, nothing with which to pretend that he’s ok. He’s tapping meager reserves for basics; breathing, being. Right now all that Kurt wants is to see his father, to know what the hell is going on with Blaine, and most of all, to avoid feeling anything until he can be sure that the two most important men in his life are still going to be here, come morning.

Despite the toast and coffee he manages to choke back at the dinner, his stomach is flipping with nerves by the time they go back to get Blaine at the airport. He makes some sort of feeble excuse to Finn, crawling into the backseat and curling up, hoping to avoid Blaine; Blaine’s coldness and the silence and hurting between them. When Finn comes back, he’s making small talk with Blaine, who’s looking marginally better than he did in the morning. Curious, he climbs into the front seat and gives Kurt a look he can’t quite figure out.

“Did you get something to eat? You look like you’re ready to hurl.” Blinking, Kurt regards Blaine, the normal tone, the way Blaine is looking at him like nothing has changed. But then the moment passes and it dawns on him, of course they are going to pretend, play along that everything is just fine because although he’s obviously not firing on all pistons, Blaine understands that the last thing his family needs is more upheaval and drama and angst to worry about. For a moment, Kurt just closes his eyes, pretending that it is real. That the caring and knowing undertone is for him, not a charade for his brother’s sake.

“Toast.” He strives for some sort of normal, figuring Finn won’t be searching that hard for subtext, and besides, subtlety is not his brother’s strong suit. Any tension he might pick up on could easily be explained by the situation and Kurt’s hangover anyway. For a moment, Blaine’s eyes flash, anger and disgust and…something, but then it is gone and he’s put his show face back on, patting Kurt’s knee and making sympathetic noises before turning back to Finn. He hears some reference to flight plans and Blaine’s trouble finding flights so quickly; he has a small moment to feel better, knowing Blaine had to take a later flight out of necessity. 

Kurt curls, up, tuning them out as he watches Ohio unfold from the car window, unchanged and unremarkable. A feeling that is so much like home and equal parts resentment fills him. It’s strange, the way he never misses Ohio until he’s here again, and when he does miss Ohio, he’s so conflicted. He knows he’d never come back, never come again to live in a place that was so wrong for him. But it’s home. His family, his father, so many of his friends live here. And with a pang, he realizes, it’s the place where he found Blaine. Finding the love of his life is reason enough to keep Ohio protected, folded into a little space in his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they reach the hospital, a place frighteningly familiar to Kurt, he’s feeling better. At least he’s passed the urge to throw up. When Blaine takes his hand, he’s startled, and for a moment he can’t tell if it is real sympathy, if Blaine is offering him real support, or if it’s still a show. But Blaine’s face is unreadable, and although Kurt knows Blaine better than any one in the world, his faces and moods and the way the light changes as it curls over his skin, he doesn’t know this face. He’s willing to take anything he’ll get right now, because this moment, in a hospital elevator, is more frightening than anything that’s come before. He’s ready to see his father, and terrified, because when he does see him this will be so much more real, something he can’t turn away from, sweep away, or pretend better. There’s a part of him that can sense, even when he can’t see, that maybe Blaine needs him too, needs his comfort and support.

Finn’s been filling the air with some sort of chatter, nervous as well, but trying for their sakes to present some sort of state of calm and normal. No one is really listening, not even Finn, and as they approach the ICU, he stops to take a breath.

“He’s in room 236, you guys go on in. They aren’t super strict about the number of visitors, but it’s kind of crowded in there.” His hand is on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt can see it with his eyes, and in some part of his brain he is processing the sensation of his brother’s fingers, tightening on his shoulder. There is a word for this, for the meaning of this gesture. Comfort? Solidarity? But he isn’t really feeling it, or anything as he walks through the automatic doors, it’s almost like he’s not even inside his body at all, until Blaine squeezes his fingers, hard. And he knows, sudden and sure, that this is real- him, the hospital, his father in that bed, surrounded by several machines, and Blaine. He’s in it now, in his body and this space. It’s real, this gesture of love and he’d smile at Blaine if he could, but he can’t because he’s next to his father, who is asleep and just covered in machines and tubes and wires and in the space between these seconds, he’s nothing again, he’s sixteen and completely alone and just so terrified.

“Hi honey.” There she is, Carole is breaking into it, breaking the moment apart. Carole is hugging him, then Blaine, and she smells like familiarity and Kurt is so so grateful to not be alone this time, to know he doesn’t have to bear the weight of this by himself. Careful, he takes his father’s hand, which has been strapped to the bed for some reason, and forces himself to listen, to really be present as Carole begins to explain, to break down what happened and what Burt’s prognosis is.

“The next forty eight hours are important. He could become septic- we’ll know if he gets a fever here soon-“

“Septic?” Blaine’s voice is hushed, almost reverent.

“Well, his intestine was perforated, and with the surgery, there is a chance that no matter how careful they were, some of the contents of the intestine might still be in the abdominal cavity, and he could get an infection from that. Sepsis is always a possibility in these sorts of cases.” She’s explaining gently, watching Kurt carefully. But he’s moved past the topic of infection, staring at the machine that’s breathing for his father.

“I don’t understand, why is he still on the ventilator? If the surgery is over?”

“Well he is breathing on his own, the machine is just to help him.” Carole shifts him toward the monitor, explaining how the machine works, “They want to keep him on the vent for another day, to let his body rest and recover a bit. It was a long surgery, and his body needs all the help it can get to heal.”

“But…he’s ok right?” He feels so small then, and even though he is taller than both Carole and Blaine, he’s a child in this moment. When Blaine puts an arm around him, he can’t bring himself to pretend it isn’t real, because it is. He knows by the way Blaine’s fingers are digging into his shoulder, the way the air trapped between their bodies is no longer cold with anger, instead vibrating with tension and fear. He knows that right now, Blaine is holding him because they both need something to lean against, something to shore up the awful drowning. 

“Well, there are some things we need to consider. I wanted to talk to you boys, and Finn. But Kurt, honey, your dad is strong. As far as this surgery goes, the doctors think he’ll be just fine. He’ll have to have another surgery, in maybe 6 months, to remove the colostomy bag and put everything back together. For now, we’re just watching for infection and in a couple of days they will take him off the sedation and everything should be fine.”

“Ok.” He’s breathing now, deep breaths to calm and center himself, because it’s there, something huge and he’s so scared. There’s something in her words and her eyes and the tired lines of Carole’s pretty face, “Ok, I want to talk to his doctors, please.”

“Well they aren’t here now, it’s pretty late. Dr. Reisch usually rounds between 7-10 in the morning. Why don’t we come tomorrow morning and you can sit down with him then?”

“Ok. That’s good. We’ll do that.” Sitting, he tries to make himself comfortable, watching his father out of the corner of his eye.

“Kurt, honey, what are you doing?” Blaine is asking, crouching down at his feet.

“I’m getting comfortable, what does it look like?”

“Kurt, come on. You need to sleep, you need to eat.” He hasn’t even stated his intention to spend the night and already Blaine is arguing with him. This sort of thing usually makes Kurt so angry, the way Blaine knows him well enough to skip three steps and still get into an argument with him. Right now Kurt is scared and he has to bite down hard to keep the words in. It doesn’t matter what they are, because they are sure to be biting and sarcastic and just the right thing to push Blaine away, to push them all away. The rational part of Kurt’s brain, small and barely functional, knows that now is not the time to push Blaine even further away. They might be together in this moment, but outside this room, and beyond this moment there’s something large and fucked up just waiting to put some space back between them. It had hit him, over bad coffee and in the car, that all his anger on the plane was nothing more than farce, a way to pretend he wasn’t responsible for breaking this boy he loves so much with his stupidity. And he can’t, he can’t do that any more; hurting Blaine, it’s the worst, most shameful sort of pain he’s ever felt.

But it’s so much, just way too fucking much to think about right now- his father being sick and Kurt’s own stupid instinct to push anyone who might want to help away, an instinct he’s learned to swallow with time, with Blaine. Blaine who might very well be gone once this moment is over because Kurt is so selfish and messed up he can’t even handle basic emergencies without making every wrong choice there is. He hates that his father being sick seems to be pushing him back, unwinding years of learning and growing, so that now he’s an old version of himself, hard and alone and desperate not to need anyone. He doesn’t want to be that man any more, he doesn’t want to, and god he’s tired and it’s hard to fight when Carole is chiming in as well.

“Kurt, we need to talk. We’ll go down to the waiting room, talk about what’s going on, then you can go home. Get some rest and some food. Really, there’s nothing you can do here. I’ll be here. He’s not waking up as long as he’s sedated, and he doesn’t even know we’re here. I promise to call if anything, anything at all happens or changes.” He’s shaking his head, poised to argue, but she won’t even let him speak.

“Kurt, right now, this is the easy part. When he wakes up, that’s when we’ll need you. He’s going to be in here for a while, and he’s going to need a lot of help. We all need to pace ourselves for a bit. Tonight you need to get settled in, get some rest because even I can see how hung over you are. Tomorrow we will start to figure things out, ok?”

“Fine,” he concedes, his sigh lost in the sounds of the hospital room. It’s hard, giving in, because for a long time it was just him and his father, and it feels so wrong to let someone else do the work. But he knows that Carole is right, and that right now he’s doing no one any favors, much less himself. He tunes them out, taking a second to lean down toward his father, to be close to him; feel him breathing, his pulse and the life that’s radiating from him, even if it is nothing more than a faint echo.

When he turns to leave, suddenly Blaine is there, taking Burt’s hand, leaning in as well. He’s whispering something, and Kurt can’t hear it, but he doesn’t miss the tear that’s slowly winding its way down Blaine’s face. He has to turn, to hide his face and close his heart for a moment, because it is all just too much and he can’t begin to feel it right here, with Carole and the monitors and the nurse coming in. When Blaine walks past him, out the glass door to the hallway, Kurt senses it rather than sees, and with a last smile to Carole, follows a few steps behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt remembers this room, the small after hours café tucked into a corner of the hospital. When his father had had his heart attack, he’d come here many nights, for a cup of coffee and a break in the tedium that was staring at the same four walls, waiting for a miracle. Although he knows it must be different, that six years is enough time for everything to change, he can’t see it, and doesn’t really want to.

When Carole sits, carefully taking the coffee Finn has for her, she’s more tired than he’s ever seen, and he knows in that moment that it’s really bad. Biting his lip, he turns away, and without thinking, takes Blaine’s hand, reassured by his presence and closeness, the knowledge that Blaine has and will be his friend through everything, even when he’s made the worst of mistakes. Blaine squeezes - it’s a signal, and in spite of everything they can still talk to each other without words, because he knows Blaine is telling him to come back, and Carole is speaking.

“Ok, so everything I’ve told you guys so far is true, but the thing is…” A breathless moment, where the room is getting dim and Kurt has to strain to catch her words, “Burt had a tumor. A rather large one- it’s what perforated his intestine and was blocking off another part of his intestine and what was causing all the problems. The doctor stressed that the initial pathology reports looked ok, but they still had some questions, and we’re going to have to wait to find out if it…is cancer...or not.” 

“Holy shit.” Finn’s quiet exclamation is too loud, pressing into the silence, fragmenting the pall. Kurt has the sudden urge to laugh, and it’s completely inappropriate and random and so wrong but he can’t stop himself, he’s laughing. He’s laughing so hard, his head down on the table, tears coming to his eyes. He doesn’t hear what Blaine is saying, hand on his shoulder, voice low and urgent, and he can’t let himself see the look in Carole’s eyes and before he can stop himself he’s up and running, running to the bathroom to throw up that stupid piece of toast and bitter coffee that had obviously sat too long in the pot. He experiences a small lapse in this hysteria, a slow lucidity in which he wonders how many times he’s going to throw up today. A blink and the moment is gone, he’s throwing up nothing but bile now and hurting with the effort.

He doesn’t speak when Blaine comes in, picking him up off the floor and wiping his mouth with a wet paper towel. He’s limp and silent, absent, a rag doll in Blaine’s arms. They don’t talk. He won’t let himself see the tears on Blaine’s cheeks, because they don’t change anything. Nothing will change this moment, make this any less fucked up.

He remains shut down and silent, as they leave. Silence presses on them, holding them separate as Finn drives them home. Kurt doesn’t say anything, taking his suitcase and Blaine’s in hand. Assuming that they are still pretending, he carries them up the stairs together, knowing that Blaine will follow. Once he’s in, kicking the door open and dumping the suitcases with little care or ceremony, he turns, and Blaine is already behind him, closing the door with care. Seconds pass and they just look, staring at each other and into the stillness of the room. Blaine looks exhausted, just spent. His hair is curling, Kurt can tell that he’s skipped any sort of product, and usually Kurt loves Blaine like this- rumpled and casual and so touchable.

But he can’t love Blaine like this, can’t touch him, because beneath the exhaustion is anger so big it’s palpable, washing over Kurt in waves. He’s lost to it, Blaine is, eyes hard and hands clenched, because Kurt has no right. No right to look so sad and needy and broken, he has no right to this claim on Blaine’s heart after what he’s done. And right now, it’s so much easier, this anger. Feels so much better; Blaine lets himself ride the wave of pissed off and resentful; anything to keep himself together, to keep his painfully beating heart away from Kurt. They don’t have words, either of them, for this moment, and so they stand, staring at each other. 

“I’ll…I guess I’ll sleep downstairs- I can tell Finn I fell asleep or something.” Kurt is trying, failing to disguise the way his voice breaks, the way his hands are shaking, because he wants so much to touch, to break through the space between them and get to Blaine. But Blaine isn’t agreeing, and he isn’t moving, and suddenly, his eyes are so fierce.

“Why?” It’s out before he knows he’s going to ask, and he can’t take it back, even if he isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer. This isn’t the time, neither of them are really in it right now, but it’s there. No turning back, it can’t be unasked.

“Why?” Kurt’s playing dumb, he knows it, but he can’t think of another way, another ploy to gain him some time, or perspective, or even answers. 

“Why, Kurt.” And Blaine’s voice is so vicious, so tense with anger, “Why weren’t you home? Why didn’t you even call to tell me what was going on? Why did you have to go and fuck him, why would you do that, and I didn’t even know, you never said a thing that something was wrong-“

“No, oh no no no,” He can’t help but cut Blaine off because he’s so wrong. He’s right about some of it, but so wrong about the most important part. And now he’s moving, pushing Blaine next to him onto the bed. It’s almost funny, how they find themselves like this, it’s like high school again when they’d sit knee to knee cross legged on the bed, talking through it all so seriously.

“That’s not what happened- with Jason I mean-“

“You know what, Kurt, honestly, spare me.” It’s been so long since he’s seen Blaine like this, so angry he can’t even bring himself to try for nice. And it scares him, the insidious trickle of serious fear, because he knows this man. Knows Blaine well enough to understand that anger is so much easier, just another part of Blaine’s show face persona. It’s been years since either of them has felt the need to put that sort of a wall up; it’s all over Kurt’s skin and into his lungs, the realization that he has hurt Blaine enough to bring him here, to this place where Blaine feels safer expressing something hard and false, rather than the truth.

“Blaine,” he’s taking a chance, putting his hand on Blaine’s knee, forcing him to look, to see, “I’ve never lied to you. I promise to tell you everything, I’ve always promised to be completely honest, and I will. Please, you have to know, I’m not going to lie to you right now.” It spins out between them, and they are assessing each other, examining past promises and measuring the weight of years of honesty and love against this. Something cracks, tension still heavy in the air, but with a different taste.

“Tell me.” Kurt has never heard Blaine like this, so small and like he’s already given up. Kurt looks up, mapping his words across the plain painted ceiling, to find his way through this.

“Carole called, and even though she said it was ok, that everything was likely to be ok, I- I just, freaked out. I was at home, and I had been thinking about making that pasta you love and you coming home and there was music on and, suddenly, the phone was ringing.” 

For a moment he stops, to look Blaine in the eye again, “I know it’s dumb, but it felt so familiar. It felt like I was sixteen again. I just…forgot. I forgot that I’m not alone any more, that I wouldn’t have to do this by myself I guess.” His little shrug is lost in the room, a nothing gesture, insignificant. “I don’t know how long I sat there- long enough for it to be getting dark and I was just sitting. I think I had a small panic attack.” When Kurt sweeps his bangs off of his forehead, it’s familiar, the little bit of diva Blaine knows comes out when Kurt is feeling unsure and vulnerable.

“Then Tracy was at the door, and she was crying, Beau broke up with her again,” he rolls his eyes at the familiar joke, but Blaine is still, taking in his words. Nervous, Kurt rushes the rest, “She had some tequila with her, and I don’t know how she managed to convince me to drink with her, but then we were. And I meant to only have one or two, enough to calm down, to figure everything out, but it didn’t stop there. I don’t remember why we decided to go to Sonja’s party, I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea, and there was even more drinking. There was music and I was dancing, just dancing by myself and pretending that everything was normal, and someone pushed me, and everyone was laughing and shouting.” His eyes are closed, he’s bringing them back, the memories, before he can think or examine or edit them, giving Blaine every detail, a fulfillment of his promise. 

“I think it must have been Greg, because he was there, he pushed me into Jason, onto his lap and then he was…kissing me. Blaine,” Kurt’s making Blaine look at him, binding him to the conversation, “I did kiss him back. It sounds like an excuse, but I promise it isn’t. I was so drunk Blaine. I can’t even tell you that I really knew what was going on, because by then I was just wanting you, and even when I was kissing him, it was like I wanted it to be you and it wasn’t and it felt all wrong. By the time my brain caught up with me, he was unbuttoning my shirt, and of course you saw the hickey and I freaked out even more, I’m pretty sure I slapped him. I know I made a scene, because Tracy had to drag me out of there.”

He stops, waiting for Blaine to speak. There’s more he could say, more to explain, but this is the part he needs Blaine to understand most. Because he’d been berating himself all day for a kiss, thinking Blaine was too. And he could understand the hurt and betrayal Blaine would feel. But Blaine’s been thinking it was so much more, so much worse, and the magnitude of the whole thing is hitting him, how much Blaine has to love him, to even be here right now, with him in this moment, having thought that Kurt had slept with Jason.

“Are you attracted to him?” Blaine’s finally speaking, and for a moment Kurt almost laughs, the question is so absurd.

“Blaine, honey, no. Never. You know that.” And he does. Because they talk about things. They know, how easy it can be, to fall apart, to fall into something with a new person. How easy it could be to want something new and exciting. Jason has always been a sticking point, ever since Kurt was cast with him in the spring musical, because Jason spared no effort pursuing Kurt, he’d been pestering Kurt for months to give him a chance. While Blaine had never been terribly insecure, it had been hard for him, Kurt working with Jason. Jason is classically good looking, taller and seriously cut. And so determinedly smitten with Kurt.

“And you promise,” He’s earnest and so serious now, “Kurt, you have to promise me that’s it. Just a kiss?”

“Just a kiss.” He’s close, Blaine is so close to him, Kurt can smell the remnants of his shower gel and shampoo. He’s leaning into it, into that space that promises comfort and rest and that feeling of complete.

“No.” Blaine leans back, away. His face is all regret, sorry and sad, “I’m sorry but I can’t right now, I just…I need to think. It’s not just the kiss. You have to know that this is about more than just...this.” He waves a hand, a gesture to help sum up where words aren’t helping him. “It helps, to know…what really happened.” His voice breaks; biting his lip and looking away, he shrinks back into himself a little more, sensing Kurt’s need to come close and comfort in some way. He finishes, hardening his voice and still not looking at Kurt, “But I still need to think.”

“Ok.” Kurt tries to smile through the tears in his eyes, he’s not letting them fall but he knows they won’t be bound for much longer. There’s nothing more he can say right now though, it’s all too much, and he can’t even breathe. Before he can explain, he’s up, out of the room, leaving the silence and aching behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Once he’s got himself back together, taking long minuets in the bathroom to shore himself up, putting on his appearance like an armor, he makes his way downstairs. In the kitchen he finds his brother, staring into a container of ice cream. He’s not even eating, just staring, as if the ice cream can answer his questions. Kurt doesn’t speak, instead he grabs a spoon and sits. This is not the time to worry about calories, and he could care less that it’s gross to eat directly out of the container, because right now, he doubts that there’s going to be any left. It might be cliché, but he can think of nothing better than to eat his feelings right now. All of them.

For a while, it’s companionable silence and the sound of them eating ice cream with determination. So when Finn breaks into the silence, cracking into it, Kurt is jolted from the sort of dream-like state he’s entered, back in the present.

“What are you guys fighting about?” Finn’s not even looking at him, instead he’s examining the fudge chunk caught in his spoonful of ice cream.

“What makes you think we’re fighting?” He’s resenting Finn, resenting the reality he’s supposed to be thinking about, because a few minutes ago it was all chocolate and the gratification of an immediate need and it didn’t hurt so fucking bad. So he’s sharp, he’s bitter and hard and Finn is the one who’s going to bear the brunt of it.

“I might be slow, but I’m not dumb.” Luckily, it’s Finn, who’s grown used to Kurt’s wicked tongue. Kurt can only sigh, because he’s forgotten this, forgotten that he can’t talk his way around Finn any more.

“I don’t want to really talk about it. I fucked up.” He shrugs, eating more ice cream, but it’s not working any more, and he puts his spoon down in frustration. Finn’s looking at him, this knowing look, too serious and, god, old.

“Is that why you didn’t tell him about Dad?” It’s not a question he’s expecting; in fact he’s so surprised he bites his tongue.

“Ow! Fuck, what?”

“Did you not tell him about Dad because you guys were fighting? Cause that’s really kind of low Kurt.”

“No, jeez Finn, no! It’s not like that, I just…I didn’t see him before stuff happened, I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, that’s all.”

“You couldn’t call him?” Finn’s looking at him, so direct it’s a little unnerving, and for a moment Kurt wants to snap at him, to butt out, to mind his own business. But he can’t because now he sees, now it is so clear why Blaine is upstairs and he is down here, and he was right, it was so much more than just a kiss. Because he’d forgotten, in his fear and panic, about Blaine. Not just that Blaine was there, to call and to lean on and to help him, but that to Blaine, this was family. That Burt was his family too, and Kurt had ignored and trampled all over that in his selfishness.

“Fuck.” His head hits the table with a thump, and he’s so far gone he can’t even tell if he’s hurt himself. They sit like that for long minutes, air humming with the sound of the refrigerator while Kurt tries to think of a way to fix this, a way to make some sort of amends for being so callously selfish and stupid and short sighted. Even he can’t blame Blaine for being so upset; Kurt had sent a pretty clear message through his actions; this is my family, these are my problems. 

And god, this is so fucked up; his head is a hot mess of emotions that he cannot begin to process. Some small part of his brain knows this. He can’t even begin to think about his father, about what’s happened and what is to come. He’s hungover still, which feels like small penance, a sharp counterpoint to the wreckage he’s created in his relationship. He can’t cure his hangover, and he has no control over his father’s health, and Kurt knows he’ll be damned if he’s going to let the best thing in his life fall apart. Because this, this thing with Blaine, is something he can maybe fix. If he can just clear his head long enough to think of a way. 

He has an idea, a way he might be able to fix things, but the timing is all wrong and this isn’t what he’d planned on at all. But then again, nothing ever is. Tomorrow he’ll have to talk to doctors and in a few days they’ll find out if his father really has cancer and the day after that, who knows what will be coming. It may be all kinds of wrong, but he can’t imagine waiting another day, another hour, to fix this, to show Blaine just how much he means.

Because it was never that Kurt didn’t think of Blaine as family, it was just that for those jarring moments, Kurt hadn’t been thinking about anyone else at all. Had been so scared, just boneless and blurred with fear, and it was too much. Too much like when his father had had the heart attack; so many of the same fears, undiluted by time, rushing through him. And like before, through the roaring in his ears, was this little voice, Please don’t let this happen, I can’t be an orphan, please don’t leave me. Over and over and he’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t an orphan, that he had Finn and Carole.

And Blaine. Always Blaine. Beautiful Blaine who loves him at his worst, who writes bad poetry on post it notes and hides them around the apartment for him to find. Who knows that Kurt only likes apples bought from the grocer three blocks out of their way. Seventeen year old Blaine who had confessed, embarrassed and a little heartbroken, that he sometimes wished Burt was his father. A boy who had always so longed for family, for the comfort of acceptance; the boy who was positively giddy upon finding his own pile of presents under the Christmas tree, their first visit home from college. And not, Kurt had known, because of the presents. Because they signified so much more, because they meant that Blaine was really and truly family.

It’s a sharp pain, just inside his chest, when Kurt remembers this. Realizing how much Blaine has always wanted to be a part, to be included. Kurt has so long taken for granted that Blaine felt like family; this, forgetting to include him, forgetting that Blaine would want to know about his father for Blaine’s sake, and not just because Kurt needed comfort; it’s the worst thing he could have done. Worse than kissing Jason. So much worse.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s dark in his room, the air close and still. He’d been sitting in the darkened living room for over an hour, thinking and planning and finding the courage to do this. It takes him a minute to adjust to the lack of light, to find the shadow shape on the bed. Blaine is on his side, facing Kurt in the bed they’ve shared every trip home for years now. They don’t speak, simply taking minutes to adjust and acknowledge and wait.

He moves simply, crawling onto the bed until he’s next to Blaine, the barest space between them, his head on the pillow next to Blaine’s. It’s dark, but not so dark they can’t see- the full moon is flooding through his window, and Blaine is backlit in the glow, his face a study of heartbreak that pulls at Kurt until it hurts, the not touching they’re doing. He knows, deep down and vicious, that no force on earth will get him to leave this bed without Blaine, without the love and family that they make.

“You left me. You left me so alone.” It’s a whisper, and Kurt can hear the tears. He’s closing is eyes, then opening them. His hand is fisted, so tight, under the pillow- he can feel the crescent marks of his nails digging into his skin.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I promise, it wasn’t on purpose.” He moves imperceptibly closer, pulled; it’s a feeling he cannot name but knows. Because it’s always been Blaine for him, he’s been a force in Kurt’s life from the moment he met him on that staircase in Dalton. He’s helpless to it, helpless to the tidal waves of love and lust and affection and heart-rendering need. 

“I was so selfish. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call you, or that I forgot you, or that I didn’t think you needed to know and be there. I just couldn’t think of anything else. I didn’t see anything else. I was so scared.” When Kurt’s voice breaks, he stops.

“You’re my family. All of you. I thought you felt the same way.” Blaine sounds almost like a child, tiny and broken and ashamed of the naked need.

“I do.” Fervent, he doesn’t stop himself, putting his free hand on Blaine’s hip, squeezing hard. “You are. We all know it, we all feel it.”

“Don’t do it again. Please Kurt, please don’t do that ever again.” He’s whispering into Kurt’s mouth, his lips just barely ghosting against his.

“No, no baby I won’t. I’m not leaving, not leaving you ever again.” And then he’s kissing him earnestly, all need and teeth and terrible hurting. And Kurt wants to touch him, make promises and apologies, but he can’t yet.

“Wait, Blaine, wait. I have something-“ he breaks away, ignoring the whimper and Blaine’s clutching hands. When Kurt pulls away, he tries to look into Blaine’s eyes, but even in the moonlit dark, he can’t see what he needs to see, so he turns and flicks on the small bedside light. Once he’s back, forehead to forehead, he pulls his hand out from under the pillow, opening it slowly.

“I bought these last Christmas with Finn. He was so excited…he kept babbling about having a new brother. I was going to give them to you for our anniversary.” In the low light, the rings gleam, nestled in Kurt’s hand, the fulfillment of so many promises given and made over these years. But Blaine isn’t speaking, and Kurt is barreling into the silence, all nerves and uncertainty. “I know we’re young, and it doesn’t have to happen for a while if you want to wait, but I want you to know, I’ve known. I’ve known you are my family, that I want you to be my family in every way, whenever you’ll let me. And when I told my dad, he cried. He cried Blaine, and said he never imagined he’d have so many children to love.” And now Kurt is crying, just a little, and Blaine is covering his hand with his, shaking and laughing,

“Yes, yes, yes!” the words are punctuated with kisses, and before he can get a breath, Blaine’s putting a ring on his finger and Kurt has to pause, to let this sink in, before he’s taking his best friend's, his lover's and future husband's hand, sealing the moment with so many spoken and unspoken words. Their fingers are tangled, awkward but so lovely, and they are too, arms and legs and bodies pressed in love and desperate need.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I love you so much. And now you’re mine and we can be a real family, the family you always wanted. We’ll get a new apartment one day and that dog you want so much and have babies and-” He’s whispering, breathing his longing and apology into Blaine’s skin, into the smooth curve of muscle between his ear and shoulder, and for a moment, they just lay, together, hearts and hands and need together.

“Really?” Blaine’s whisper is awe and longing, fierce and happy, “You want all that?”

“Yes, Blaine. Yes, with you. And we’ll love them so much, give them all the love and acceptance that we always wanted, you can love them in all the ways you wanted your dad to love you, and we’ll make a new family, our own family. I want to show you every day, how much I love you, how sorry I am for hurting you, for hurting this.” And Kurt is really crying now, tears dripping onto Blaine’s face.

“I love you so much, god so much.” Blaine’s hands are framing his face, wiping at tears; they are looking at each other, into each other. Together, they fold into their happiness, weighing the shape and weight of just how much they have, how much love they make, how much more they can and will in the lifetime they are promising each other.


	9. Chapter 9

I really want to thank you guys so much for your comments and for being so honest with me along the way; so many of you shared so much of your personal lives and your stories and hearts with me, I feel so blessed. I've started tagging these fics with a Sons and Lovers!verse tag, and will tag future ones as well. 

Soon enough, the moment is broken, and before Kurt knows what is coming, Blaine is on him, tearing at his clothes, gentle and desperate, desperately undone. His hands are full, Blaine’s hair and his taut back and the smooth round curves of his ass saturating Kurt’s skin. In moments they are naked, delirious but tender, needing so much. Blaine starts to roll, to pull Kurt over him, and Kurt is shaking his head, taking Blaine’s hand and pressing it between his legs. He’s shimmering on a thin edge, aching and hollow, the need to love Blaine sown into his skin, burning into his bones; to show this beautiful boy just how absolute and necessary he is.

“No, no please, please Blaine, I need you.” He can’t bring himself to be ashamed of the way he’s so shaken, destitute and specious, “Please I need you, fill me up, love me.”

Blaine has to take a moment, to regroup; they don’t often make love like this. When they have…Blaine can count on his hands the number of times Kurt has asked for it like this. So many times in his life Kurt has felt so out of control, so helpless. It’s not a big thing, Blaine loving to be taken care of and Kurt loving by giving that care; it just is. Kurt, who is imploring; naked need and love; he is giving this to Blaine. It’s apology and trust and breaks Blaine open like such ripe fruit, leaving them both swamped and overwhelmed.

By the time he’s thought of all this, his fingers are pressing against and into, and Kurt is helpless, firing synapses and electric skin; he can’t stop himself from crowding into the touch. When Blaine starts to pull away and fumble, Kurt reaches above them, butting Blaine’s hand away and opening the bedside drawer without looking. Once Blaine has the lube, things move more quickly; Blaine’s fingers are buried inside him, their foreheads are hard up against each other as they breathe, breathe into each other. Kurt is so undone, a wordless thing, Blaine is erasing the boundaries and they are pouring into the breech.

It’s all Kurt can do to breathe because it really has been a very long time since they’ve done this and, ohshit, he needs a minute but jesusfuckgod it’s so good.  
But he’s practically crying; it hurts when Blaine stops, leaning up and over him and looking for condoms. Without Blaine’s fingers he’s untethered, too open and not anchored,

“No, none, none,” Kurt is pulling at his shoulders, trying to get Blaine over him, into him, and Blaine has to grab his face, make him look into his eyes. Because they’ve never done this, even though they’ve known they could. But Kurt just looks back, sure and annihilated and not a second of hesitation and Blaine knows that it was nothing more than a kiss. And then he’s there, clamoring in, he can feel everything Kurt is, every bone and long muscle and all the beautiful lines of his body flush against him.

By the time he’s buried, so deep and so immediate, Kurt is begging, arms and legs wound so tight,

“Please, baby, please don’t go. Oh I love you, I love you so much.” He’s trembling against him, and Blaine has one arm under Kurt’s hips, tilting them just a bit until he feels their bones grinding. Their hearts, he can feel them, beating so hard against each other as they’re chest to chest and he’s looking right into Kurt’s eyes and his other hand is wrapped so tight with Kurt’s, rings and fingers digging bruises into each other. He has to think, to wonder, because it’s never been this before, so much together and still needing more. They’re loving and it hurts, Blaine wants to unzip and unfetter this man, crawl into him, and he loves Kurt so much, this man who is giving him everything, every bit of control and need and letting Blaine just take him and take him and take him there.  
They’re moving, rocking and breathing and the tears are pure pleasure. Kurt lets it in, lets it sweep him up, to spin him and husk him before he’s coming apart and Blaine didn’t even have to touch him, the press of their bodies and the movement of their hips is enough to tumble Kurt, helpless and lost.

In the seconds that follow, when he’s sure Blaine will follow him, he’s breathing him in, Blaine’s sweat and tears and that smell that is just something home. But Blaine isn’t there yet, and it’s a pleasure hurt, Blaine is just absolutely using him now. Kurt lets himself go, gives himself over to whatever Blaine will take from him, limp and oh, god, the way he’s just being infiltrated. Gentle Blaine is gone now, he’s some sort of primal thing unleashed, because Blaine is slamming into him, hand digging into his hip, nails pricking but Kurt wants it, he needs this. He wants Blaine all over him, fingerprints proof of his love and ownership and just how much he is Blaine’s in every way.

Blaine must know, can sense surrender, that he can take Kurt anywhere now, any way now; he’s biting, leaving marks, a wrecked path of love and hurt and greed; possession all over Kurt’s skin. By the time he’s coming Kurt is ruined, limp and sore and so aroused again already that all it takes is the touch of Blaine’s hand, sure and strong and in no way easy; they are in it together, crying out and tensing up and breathing heavily into each others' mouths. Never in his life has Kurt let someone in so completely, made himself to helpless, and it’s a breaking, shattering thing, his love for Blaine. When Blaine slips out of him, clumsily grabbing for tissues to wipe them up, he can’t bring himself to move, and when Blaine settles, pressed up against Kurt every place they can touch, it’s all he can to do grab Blaine’s hand, pressing their rings together and whispering,

“Family.”


End file.
